


Oh. VWowv, Okay.

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cum Inflation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nook Worship, Sexual Exhaustion, Size Kink, Stomach Bulge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s big. Like, giant crazy fucking monster huge, big. Which you guess makes sense? Kurloz told you his ancestor was ‘bigger than a motherfucker could think to be’, whatever that means. He’s huge, at least ten feet tall and built like a steam train, and considering exactly why you’re here, it kind of makes you worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s big. Like, giant crazy fucking monster huge, big. Which you guess makes sense? Kurloz told you his ancestor was ‘bigger than a motherfucker could think to be’, whatever that means. He’s huge, at least ten feet tall and built like a steam train, and considering exactly why you’re here, it kind of makes you worry.

Recently, drone season started, and people have to submit pails or be culled, and you have no red partner. Kurloz offered to be your pitch partner this time around, so that was settled, but with no flush quad you’re still facing at least a heavy blow to your income trying to get away from the damned drones.

Because of this reason, highbloods like you have a system set up, where you can choose a partner through an anonymous middleman, pail them, and maybe have something come of it.

Well, here’s hoping, at least, because from what you know people generally only do it for pailing.

The Highblood, as he’d told you to address him, doesn’t actually seem so bad. He’s attractive, certainly, and you can’t lie that you’re a bit of a size queen. Still, highbloods rage a lot. Like, a lot a lot. You don’t want to die trying to get laid.

But he seems pleasant. He bends his knees and offers you a hand, which although it is big to you is actually proportionate to him, lucky guy. You take it, and he smiles.

"Motherfucker picked a pretty one this time." His voice is this raspy purr that makes you shiver. "You afraid, pretty one, Cronus?"

You swallow and shake your head, then make yourself speak. “No, sir. I’ve just uh, n-never done this. Before. I mean.”

He honks a laugh and starts leading you down some winding halls, and you do your best not to touch anything that looks like it’s been painted, though it doesn’t smell much like blood.

"You’s a cute motherfucker. I like you. Don’t you worry though, not gonna up’n tear you any which way, long as you’re good to me." He pushes the door to what must be his respiteblock and pulls you in, then to his platform. At least it’s clean. "Make you feel all kindsa goodnice, Cronus, bet you make motherfuckin mirthful sounds."

You sit on his platform and wiggle a little. “Can I uh. Should I do anything? I mean I’m not a virgin or anything but I’ve never done this kind of thing.”

He leans in, his hand resting on your shoulder, and grins. “Just tell me if you gotta stop. Ain’t got nothin much for you to all be doin ‘sides fillin my pail and bein on my bulge.”

You can feel the blood rush to your face at that, but you just nod, and he cups your jaw, tilts your head back, and kisses you. You force yourself to relax as he does, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and purring, just a little. He smirks against your lips and slips his fingers under your shirt, crooks them, and tears the cloth off you with his claws.

You jump back to tell him to take it easy and he grumbles, kissing you again. Without pulling away, he speaks.

"Motherfucker, calm down. Ain’t gonna send you hive all undressed like, got some threads you can cover up with."

Something tells you that the clothing in question is indigo, and half of you wants to snap at him for being presumptuous with his better, and the other just wants him to tear your pants off so he can own you properly.

His lips and teeth move to your collarbones, and you don’t have to wait long for him to tear your pants to shreds, and you decide that just sitting there is a little lazy, so you trace his horns, then stroke them properly, earning this deep noise that has your bulge poking out of it’s sheathe. He attacks your mouth, biting your bottom lip enough to draw blood, and you only notice his pants are down when he leads one of your hands to his sheathe.

The very tip of his bulge—oh, he’s one of those trolls with that cute little diamond-shaped tips, that’s great—is already peeking out, and you rub your thumb over it, tease it out slowly. He purrs, though it’s somewhat stuttered, and once about the length of your forearm is out of his sheathe, he pulls your hand away, up to his own lips. The translucent indigo on your fingers smells musky, like he’s been stuck with drones milling around and getting him worked up for too long, and his too-long tongue wraps around you fingers to clean them.

That’s both disgusting and arousing, and you whine at him. He just winks at you, glancing down with a hum. Your bulge, although partway out, is still being reluctant to play. When his not-as-cold-as-you fingers stroke the underside of it, though, you chirp and it pushes the rest of the way out.

"There we go, pretty Cronus. Get all comfy laid back and I’ll open you up right." He coos, his hands on your thighs. "Make sure’n tell a brother if it hurts at all."

You nod, moving back, and lay down completely. He pushes your thighs apart, and you feel extremely vulnerable under him, especially with him just.. Watching you. Your bulge twists against your abdomen as you wait, trying for some friction, and he presses the par of one finger against the tip, holding it down so it won’t get in the way. Which hurts a little, but not enough for you to want him to stop.

He shuffles forward (it occurs to you that he probably just pushed his pants around his knees, and you chuckle, which he apparently thinks is cute.) and leads just the tip of his bulge to your nook, trailing the dulled diamond over the lips of your nook, slow and smooth, like he’s painting something. It sends little bolts of electricity down your spine, not only the sensation but the tenderness of it all, how delicate his touches all are. You wonder if he’s hoping for a red thing from this, too.

The strokes his bulge is making at your nook are getting slower, lingering on the lips as blood rushes to them and swells them, and you angle your hips juuuuust a little and.. There, the tip pops into you and you sigh a shaky moan. He sucks in a breath of air, his thighs tensing.

His bulge keeps making those little brush-stroke kind of movements, pushing a little deeper, a little more, and the stretch when he’s about a third of the way into you is already making your eyes water, your legs shaking. His ears are lavender, and he licks his lips before speaking.

"Y-ya alright, Crobro? Not hurting?" On the last word, his voice growls a bit.

And you’re gone, you keen and your nook tries to tighten around him, material filling the tight space around his bulge inside you. He growls in what you think—you hope—is a pleased way and lets a few inches push into you while you’re recovering, too blissed to really notice the burn of him stretching you wider.

By the time he gets his whole bulge into you, you’re boneless and pliable in his hands, your nook pulsing with pleasure from two other orgasms, which he murmured into your ear about how lovely they were. You let him tuck you up under his chin, purring and trying not to wipe the tears and drool on your face onto his vest.

"Lift your legs for me, cutie." He mumbles, tapping your thigh with one finger.

You manage, barely, to do what he’d asked, and he turns you around completely, not removing his bulge in the least. Once you’re settled in his lap again, his bulge twists inside you to right itself, and you keen. his hand splays out on your abdomen, and you notice only then that your stomach is actually bulging with his length, it makes you shudder, leaning back against him like a needy virgin.

It feels a lot like that, too, since he’s still holding you against himself and kissing at your neck and shoulders, his hips moving so you don’t have to. You can’t help it, though, you’re just limp and useless in his arms, your head down because then you can watch the bump of his bulge in your abdomen and it makes your nook flutter around him because it’s too good, too much.

It feels like there’s no space for your lungs to inflate because the space is taken up by his bulge, even though you know that’s not true, but your moans and other noises are weaker, softer because his bulge it hitting what feels like every nerve in your nook, pressing and rubbing against them in all the best ways.

His breaths are getting shorter, too, and when he grabs at the bucket under his platform, you halfway wish he wasn’t almost done, though the rest of you is sated and tired and relieved and you just want to finish and sleep already.

He sets the bucket on the platform, between your thighs, and starts moving harder in you, his bulge starts lashing in you more, while his hand moves to toy with your poor, ignored bulge, in the mess of violet that it’s in. You sob moan after moan as he jacks you off, filling you to bursting, and when you spray a pitiful amount of material into the bucket, he comes inside you, holding you tight against him, until your seedflap fills up with the material in your nook.

It feels kind of like drinking some water and stretching at the same time, but not exactly.

His bulge deflates and retracts, dripping indigo-violet as it does, and you try and get your hands to work long enough to move the bucket under you, to no avail. He kisses your neck again, tucking the pail under you, and helps you to massage the lump of your seedflap until it pours out of you and into the pail, nearly overfilling it. You mewl as you're emptied, your head falling against his chest because you just go completely fucking limp.

And then he’s sticking the pail back under the platform, wiping you down with the remnants of your clothes, and promising to ‘take real nicegood care a ya’ when you wake up again.

You don’t end up going hive until a few nights later, somewhat sore, covered in messy hickies, wearing some ridiculous spotted clown pants and a shirt with his symbol on it, feeling rather claimed, and not really minding. He gave you his chumhandle, too, and told you to keep in touch.

You plan on it.


	2. Pailed (Almost) To Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are the Grand Highblood, and your little flush fling is so cute, so pitiable that you can't help but want to quadrant him. If only he'd let you.

He’s so cute when you get him to visit you. He always puts so much product in his hair that you can hardly smell him under it, even when you kiss his cheek. You’ve been trying to make this prolonged flush fling official, but he seems to get worried and think he’s doing something wrong as a pailbuddy, so you just don’t bring it up.

At least he comes over to hang out and not just fuck, though. Right now, he’s curled into your side, arms around your waist while you both watch some asinine movie, and he’s purring a little from brushing your fingers through his hair. Absolutely pitiable, really.

He’s been spending more time at your hive than he had been, even letting you squeeze him into your coon with you without pailing him most mornings he’s still here, tucking himself up under your chin and murmuring soft little phrases while half-asleep, letting you press your nose into his hair.

The end credits start to roll and he stretches, shimmying into your lap with a few well-placed wiggles. He yawns, arches his back and lets his head fall back, and then slips his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck, smiling. You lean in to kiss him even before he starts to pull you down, your own hands sliding down his sides to hear him chirp. His nose bumps yours when he pulls back and you chuckle at the smear of paint on his skin, leaning in to give him a little kiss on his jaw.

"Ready for coon, little violet?" You purr, knowing from the way he’s reaching up to scratch at your hornbases what his answer will be. "Want I should carry you there?"

He smiles, leaning up to press his lips under your jaw. “Yeah, carry me.” His legs slip to either side of your lap as you move to stand, a little chill shooting down your spine from the way he speaks against your pulse, sharp teeth behind soft lips. “Wanna use the platform?”

Cronus always asks that when he wants to pail, like he’s being suave and just suggesting you sleep dry. You always pretend that you don’t know what he’s planning, even though, without fail, he’s flushed and fighting his shirt off before you even get to the door to your block, his tongue in your mouth and his fins flared to either side of his head.

He pulls away to strip his shirt off and you nip his bottom lip, careful not to break the skin. Those lovely gillslits under his ribs are flushed too, fluttering in the open air, same with the ones on his neck, and you can’t help but lean in to drag your tongue over them, because it makes him squirm and dig his claws into your shirt and press his hips against yours. When your knees touch the edge of the platform, you stop groping at his ass and set him on it, kneeling to keep at his neck.

Your teeth skirt his collar bone and he makes this sweet little giggle-gasp kind of noise, hands wrapping around your horns about midway up them. You grin against his skin and slide your hands up his sides, careful not to disturb the slits, and squeeze his chest a little, smirking even when he flicks your horn. He mutters something about you being an overgrown wriggler, and you drag yourself away from the slight pillow of his chest to lave your tongue over his abdomen and bite at his hips, fingers slipping under the waist of his jeans.

Sinking your teeth into his hip makes him shudder, lifting himself enough for you to pull his pants off, only not tearing them because he complains that the clothes you send him hive in are too tight. His nook is already slick looking, plump and flushed violet, and you can’t help but lap at it a bit, purring at the taste. He gasps, one hand flying up to his lips and the other tightening on your horn.

Your hands, which had been rested at his hips, slide down his legs and hook one of his knees over your shoulder, and you lean in, slipping your tongue over and between the outer lips of his nook with a little purr. He coos, eyes slipping closed, and lets his hips rock just barely against your mouth. The hand not holding his leg off to the side moves to press his nook open, spreading him with the utmost care.

Cronus makes this low moan when your tongue pushes into him, his legs trying to close, and you pull back, snaking your tongue over his nook again to get his body to move. He whines something along the lines of “don’t tease” and you oblige, pushing your tongue into him until there’s violet prematerial dribbling down your chin, letting him half-hump your mouth and grip your horns.

You can feel your paint smearing on his thigh, and when you stop holding his legs apart to steady his hips, it smears on the other one too. He sobs when you pull away, sucking at the lips of his nook just a little, his body twitching to try and follow your mouth. He’s still upright, but when you meet his eyes and make a point of licking the violet off his nook he groans and falls back, leaving you to follow him to keep kissing his nook.

"Cronus." You purr, rubbing his sides. "Motherfucker, you taste so good."

The balls of his feet press against your shoulder blades. “Fuck.” He jolts upright when your tongue slithers over his nook and almost to his wastechute, getting louder. “Fuck, Highblood!”

"Mmm." You hum, pressing your mouth against his nook again and your tongue pressing up against his shameglobes.

Claws against your scalp almost make you stop, but he’s gasping your name, shivering and whimpering warnings that he’s gonna come. You hold him tight against your lips when he comes, even when he’s shuddering and going limp against the mattress, and only pull back when he pushes weakly at your head, not sitting up and panting hard, his chest heaving.

When he does finally sit up, he’s grinning, fins fluttering. “Why’d you stop?”

Your chuckle shakes your ribs and makes him laugh too, though it breaks into a soft little keen when you go back to his nook. At this point you’re downright worshipping his nook, lapping at the lips gently and watching them swell with blood, watching the prematerial leak and drip from it. His legs jolt under your hold when you drag your tongue over his pleasure nub, and he writhes when you suck at it, moaning some garbled form of your title, but you don’t let him pull away. You pull off his nub with a tiny pop and he shakes, then keens when your tongue pushes into him, pressing up against his globes and making him shake.

He’s close, you can smell it on him, and you don’t let up, pushing him to an orgasm that makes him keen like a pailing video star, his back arching and his claws tearing at the cover of your platform. This time you don’t stop, even when you actually feel his globes swell with unspilled material, and he sobs when you do pull away to catch your breath. His thighs are twitching, but he doesn’t move to close them when you take your hands off them, though you note that he’s got some fingerprint bruises on them.

Oops. Cronus is doing this sort of purring, mewling thing, and brushing a thumb over one of the imprints makes him hiss, eyebrows pulling together. You’ll have to deal with those later, you guess. He also has most of your paint from the evening on his thighs, so you take his shirt and wipe the rest off, not even thinking twice over him seeing your face bare.

He grabs at your hair and yanks you down to kiss you, moaning when you suck on his tongue. His thighs have mostly stopped shaking by the time you wipe what you can off of them, and you pause to look at him before continuing, earning a quick nod.

First, you drag your tongue up from just below his nook to his nub, making sure to flick it with the tip, and then push into him, pressing at whatever sensitive place you can reach. Of course, he’s pretty much bare nerves, from how he’s acting, so by the time you repeat the action, Cronus is whimpering. You get about four letter into the East Alternian alphabet before he comes, shouting out loud. You keep going, silently thanking Troll Rosetta Stone, and he keeps shaking, coming again when you get to the last letter, and by then your bulge is trying to tie itself in knots, so you stand and lick the purple off your face as you push your pants down.

Cronus looks almost senseless, eyes barely open and mouth caught in an ‘o’, a little string of drool running from the corner of his slightly-swollen lips to the mattress, and you growl something you don’t think about. He chirps this sweet submissive little thing and you finish fighting your pants off, letting your bulge twist into the air. He sighs, sounding relieved, when your bulge starts to push into him, slow as ever.

"Mmn, fuck, hurry up, ffffuck." He whines, hands shivering at the sides of his head. "I can, take it, just please, it’s, sensitive."

You chuckle, using one hand to hold your bulge and the other to pet up his abdomen. “Don’t wanna tear nothin, little motherfucker that you are.” You lean in carefully and kiss his lips, soft.

"Please, pl-please, ‘s, I’m, I—!" He whimpers, his nook fluttering around you and his eyes shooting wide.

Hand resting on his lower stomach, you pet him, as soothing as you can manage when you’re half inside him. “Let it come, pretty motherfucker. Lemme see you.”

Cronus sobs as he comes, nook tightening and hands gripping the sheet so hard it tears in his fists, and you groan, rolling your bulge in him. You keep pushing, slowly, and he keeps begging for more, though you think he might not be able to move at this point.

By the time your hips are against his pelvis, he’s panting constantly, lips wet and body over-sensitive. Even just brushing a hand through his hair makes him whine, and by now you’ve lost track of how many times he’s gone over the edge, so you’re gentle when you roll your hips.

His head tosses to one side when you find a rhythm, so you scoop your hands under him, lifting him up to kiss at his neck and shoulders as you rock into him. His nook is fluttering so nicely, and his noises are so desperate, that you can’t help but kiss him when he comes again, swallowing the taste of his sound. He crumples when you lay him back, actually glubbing when you pull his knees up to his chest, your movements getting a little harder.

The noises he’s making are rough, deep to where you can feel them reverberate in his body and feral, his head turned to the wall and his mouth moving between biting his lips, grinning, and open to make the sounds. Your bulge is twisting up against his globes, and everything else, actually making a little bump in his stomach from how much larger you are than him. On the first thrust that makes your skin slap against his, he screams, nook vicing around you, and he only gets louder as you keep it up, pushing him further and making him beg you for more, something more.

Each movement makes you get closer, your stomach tightening, until you have to grab his hips and shove into him, hissing his name as you fill him with indigo. Cronus sobs as another orgasm hits him, hips twitching weakly against your deflating bulge, and you keep him pressed to you until his seedflap absorbs the material in his nook and he has this hard little lump just near his hip. He’s still coming down from the orgasm that he always gets if you make his seedflap open up when you kiss his shoulder, fingers slipping down to slick in his prematerial before going to play with his slit.

"Please." He gasps, his legs tightening like he wants to push into your hand but not managing to move him. "Please, fuck, it’s, it hurts. I need to come, my globes fuckin hurt, Highblood, please, please."

It doesn’t take very much to tease his bulge out, and he moans at that alone, murmuring thank-you’s under his breath. You kiss his ear, nibbling at his fin, and speak softly into it.

"Flushed for you."

He sobs, hands tangling in your hair. “Please, please please.” You’re not sure if he’s asking you or his body, but he’s asking nicely, so you kiss his jaw, rubbing your thumb against the tip of his bulge and kneeling to lap at the base of his bulge.

"Flush for you, little violet, pretty little Cronus." You coo, kissing his knee. It feels good to say. "Red as the motherfuckin sky for you."

His voice is high when he speaks now, his toes curling. “You too, I, you too, please, I’m so, close, just need, my nook, please, please Highblood please I need to come.”

Not slowing your pace on his bulge, your other hand slips down to press two fingers into his nook, pressing up against his globes lightly. He locks up, chittering, and then tries to roll over as he comes, violet gushing from his bulge to where it pools under him. You ease him through it, letting him down slowly and milking his bulge for every bit of his material, not even minding when it gets on your face from you sucking at the base.

By the time he’s finished, he’s boneless, gasping hard and shivering, and you lick your hands clean while you watch him, smiling. When he’s caught his breath, you scoop him up to get him out of his material, asking your question in a low voice.

"You mean that? You really flush for me too?"

He laughs weakly, leaning his head into your neck with some obvious effort. “D’You really think I can lie about somethin like that while you’re tryin to kill me via sex?”

You chuckle, face and ears turning lavender as you carry him to the coon. He’s flush for you too. You’re so excited you almost wonder if you can sleep, until you settle him into your coon and he holds shaking arms out to you, smiling this half-asleep smirk.

The mess can wait, you guess. You can’t very well just leave him there when he’s asking for you so cutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention how much I adore shipping ancestors and descendants? Because it's a lot.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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